~ THE WIDOW NOE ~
There was a legend that was told, a long, long time ago,
the story of a Pirate Ship they called the Widow Noe.
A ship that roamed the ocean with a thirst for souls to take,
as day and night she hunted leaving terror in her wake.
She’d wait for unsuspecting ships to pass within her sight,
then quickly overtake the crafts and draw them to a fight.
Her bell would start to ring aloud with seven times the toll,
to let the victims know they were about to meet the Noe.
With Skull and Crossbones waving high above the tallest spire,
the Widow’s cannons met their mark when they began to fire,
then pirates with a thirst for blood would swing across to board,
to show the vessel’s crew the power of the Widow’s sword.
“Take no prisoners, not a one - leave no one left to tell,”
who did the deed that stamped the Widow’s ticket into hell.
And so for many years the Widow ruled the blue and green,
unchallenged ‘til the day she drew the anger of the Queen.
“Order Captain Hale to begin looking to and fro,
to search the seven seas to find and sink the Widow Noe!”
Then with the British Standard raised the Captain and his crew,
set sail to find those pirates out across the ocean blue.
They searched the islands, coves, and ports, for any sign of her,
inquiring every Tar they found if they had seen the cur,
but none would speak against the ship, that terror of the deep,
for fear of what the Noe would do if they had said a peep.
And so with all due diligence Hale wrote from every port,
though “No News Yet” was all he said unto the Royal court.
Until one day there came a shout: “Prepare for Battle men!”
The Widow had been spotted anchored just around the bend.
“The hour has come’ the Captain said, ‘to end this here and now,”
and then he fired a cannon ball across the Widow’s bow.
“Drop your weapons and you’ll live!” so ordered Captain Hale,
to which the pirates laughed aloud and raised the Widow’s sail.
The evil crew had laughed at him because of what he said;
for Captain Hale was unaware, they were already dead.
She hoisted anchor, turning hard as if she meant to run,
and then the Widow turned about smoke rolling from her guns,
as broadside she approached them every cannon full ablaze,
while both ships fired most all they had amidst a smoky haze.
Then suddenly the fighting stopped as quick as it began,
when Captain Hale slipped ‘neath the waves, along with every man.
The Noe however, was intact, no damage could be found,
somehow the evil ship stood fast, avoiding every round.
And so with terror at her helm and death within her wake,
the Widow robbed as many victims as the Noe could make.
She stole from merchant ships and tried to fill the Widow’s breast,
with silver, gold and precious stones, within her treasure chest.
Though pirate ships were feared by all, the Widow more than most,
the reason was, so many claimed, the Widow was a ghost.
Enchanted Forest wood they say was used to build the craft,
and those who knew her claimed that she was evil fore and aft.
Yet ghost or not this much is true, as true as it was then:
that every legend fades away and comes unto an end.
For one day came when she was gone and not a man knew why,
the Pirate ship could not be found beneath the starry sky.
The ship that carried fear with her from east unto the west,
now somewhere on the bottom merry Widow laid to rest.
Some say it was a storm, while others say it was her load;
she carried to the bottom, treasure more than she could hold.
Yet others claimed it was her crew who had an awful fight,
‘a mutiny,’ they say aboard, was carried out one night.
But last of all the legend says, and this one may be true,
her soul had been required, unto the Devil it was due.
A hundred years have passed us since the legend of her fall,
and many people wondered ‘was she ever real at all?’
Until one day discovered, on a beach, it was her bell,
the only part of her believed escaped the fires of hell,
but sometimes on a foggy night you still might hear it toll,
as seven times it rings to say, ‘Beware the Widow Noe.’
THE END
~oOo~
Written By:
Kenneth R. McClelland
The Fallen One
I’m not an artist with a brush to master every hue,
and yet some pictures have appeared in poems that I do,
with words that seem to flow as if a painting from my mind,
the art appearing here and there, revealed with every line.
Each stroke pours out a letter while the broader ones a word,
and slow but sure the art appears that man has never heard,
like when a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound?
with branches, leaves or needles drifting silent to the ground,
her days of glory faded now, no longer at her best,
as in a cloud of dust a mighty giant comes to rest.
The years of growth are measured as a ring for every year,
though none reveals the suffering no one will ever hear;
those days of snow and lack of rain, the storms or windy gale,
how through it all without a word she managed to prevail,
with scars upon her body that no man will ever see,
from birds and little creepy things that fed upon the tree,
they still remain close to the heart of this one so sublime,
somewhere deep inside the wood, lost in the rings of time.
And so she lies with branches buried deep in soil and sand,
a last embrace before she goes to where her life began,
this hero who gave all she had to anyone in need,
now lies upon the forest floor, a fallen one indeed.
So give me paper, pencils, pens, or crayons if you must,
a piece of coal if that is all, somehow I will adjust,
and with the printed word I’ll paint a tree or colored rose,
a sunset on the ocean blue, or statue without clothes,
perhaps a rugged pirate ship with cannons full ablaze,
or something more spectacular to leave the world amazed.
My options are unlimited, each one a ring in time,
upon the empty canvas lying deep within my mind.
The End
~oOo~
Written By:
Kenneth R. McClelland
The Fallen One
(Short Version)
When a tree falls in the forest, does it make a sound,
with leaves of every color drifting silent to the ground,
her days of glory faded now, no longer at her best,
as in a cloud of dust the mighty giant comes to rest.
The years of growth now measured as a ring for every year,
though none reveals the suffering no one will ever hear;
those snowy days and lack of rain, the storms or windy gale,
how through it all without a word she managed to prevail,
with scars upon her body that no man will ever see,
from birds and little creepy things that fed upon the tree,
that still remain close to the heart of this one so sublime,
somewhere deep inside the wood, lost in the rings of time.
And so she lies with branches buried deep in soil and sand,
a last embrace before she goes to where her life began,
this hero who gave all she had to anyone in need,
now lies upon the forest floor… a Fallen One indeed.
~~~ THE END ~~~
Written By:
Kenneth R. McClelland